


To the Memory of the Memory

by transpapyrus



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e03 Thanks for the Memory, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Relationship(s), episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpapyrus/pseuds/transpapyrus
Summary: What if instead of the memory of an old girlfriend, Lister gave Rimmer an old boyfriend? A rewrite of Thanks for the Memory in which Rimmer is forced to combat his own repression in new and fun ways.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	To the Memory of the Memory

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Thanks for the Memory since it was on after the documentary last night (did anyone else watch it?) and I hit the idea jackpot. If this has been done before, oops. Also, I'm sorry that so much of the dialogue is lifted directly from the episode, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it. I had fun getting in their heads for the pre-existing scenes, and sticking in little bits of my own here and there. Some sections are more divergent than others, and there's LOTS of new stuff as well. Also, tw for some heavy homophobia from Rimmer, surprise surprise. Anyway, enjoy!

It all began with a deathday party.

Really, Lister should’ve known better than to think anything could make Rimmer happy for any length of time before it all inevitably went to shit.

And Rimmer, for what it was worth, should’ve known better than to think anything could make him happy, full stop.

A celebration of one’s death, which is exactly as morbid as it sounds, is something that is only tolerable after at least five shots of whiskey. And for someone who’s dead, drinking (even the hologramatic type of alcohol)  _ really  _ just doesn’t do it.

In all fairness, it seemed like a good idea at the time. As do most things, when you haven’t slept and are still hungover from the day before when you were  _ planning _ the damn thing.

One sing-through of “happy deathday” and a surprisingly edible spanner-shaped cake that the deathday boy couldn’t even eat later, the boys were back on Red Dwarf, and Lister was introducing Rimmer to his favorite hangover food.

But you know this part already. You know about Rimmer’s confession, and his uncharacteristically heartfelt speech about wanting to be loved. You know how Lister, despite his best attempts, was oddly moved by his roommate’s vulnerability and openness.

You also likely know that sad and drunk Rimmer were a  _ very _ bad combination, and that his crying sounded like a combination between a wailing police siren and a dying animal. All in all, headache-inducing even when sober, and impossible to sleep through. 

Which is how Lister found himself in the hologram simulation suite at three in the morning with a very disgruntled Cat beside him.

“What is this place?” Cat asked, his irritation at having been woken up temporarily forgotten as he marveled at the strange room.

“It’s the hologram simulation suite,” Lister replied, making his way over to one of the computers. “This is the room that creates Rimmer.”

Cat nodded thoughtfully, then trotted over to Lister’s side as he sat down and reached for a helmet. “Have we come to blow this room up?”

Lister sighed, looking over his shoulder at Cat and gave him a withering look. Cat just rolled his eyes. “Look,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “Those are his dreams and everything there.” He pointed to the opposite wall, where a screen showing Rimmer doing some sort of sorry excuse for a song-and-dance routine was playing. “Look, that’s what he’s dreaming right at the moment.” He and Cat watched only long enough to be thoroughly scandalized by his less-than-impressive tap. If there was a  _ slight _ fondness in Lister’s expression, it disappeared as soon as Cat caught his eye. He cleared his throat, and turned back to the computer. “I’m going to give Rimmer the best present he will ever get.”

“What are you doing with that?” Cat asked, leaning far over Lister’s shoulder to watch him tap at the keyboard. 

“I’m recording my memory,” he said, without missing a beat, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Cat didn’t look so impressed, or convinced, and he shot Lister a look of disbelief.

“Your entire memory?”

Lister nodded. “Yeah. Everything. Everywhere I’ve been, everything I’ve learned, my entire knowledge.” It wasn’t so uncommon, not on a ship where people were regularly brought back as holograms. Quickly — perhaps a little too quickly for Lister’s ego — the upload finished, and he sat back, giving Cat a look of satisfaction. “Right, that’s it.” Cat still looked confused, which Lister didn’t really blame him for. He’d been uncharacteristically determined and focused all evening. It wasn’t like him. But Rimmer’s breakdown, everything he’d said, stuck with him. Lister really hadn’t meant to upset him. He wasn’t even really sure if he’d done anything to trigger it, or if Rimmer just had a tendency toward self-destruction (he suspected it was the latter). But either way, he felt responsible. It had been a rough 24 hours for Rimmer. The deathday party had meant to take the edge off of what would’ve likely been a really painful day, and it had worked. But Lister should’ve known better than to think it would last. Rimmer was simply incapable of maintaining genuine happiness for any length of time. It was honestly just pathetic, but for whatever reason, Lister felt bad for him. Bad enough that he was about to go to the most extreme length he could imagine.

“I’m going to give Rimmer a love affair,” he explained to Cat.”I’m going to take eight months out of my memory and I’m going to paste it into his. So everything that’s happened to me he’s going to think happened to him.”

Cat gave Lister a look that was a cross between disbelief and jealousy. “You’re going to give him one of your own girlfriends?”

Lister pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. Boyfriend.”

Cat’s brows shot up into his hairline. “Boyfriend? You, I get. But goalpost-head? You really think that’s his style?”

“Yeah, I mean… I dunno if he’s hiding it or doesn’t like to talk about it or what, but don’t you think it’s weird the way he talks about his relationships with women?”

Cat looked at him skeptically. “What relationships? That dude’s never been in a relationship in his life.”

Lister shook his head. “Neither have you, man. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m saying is, he’s never been in  _ love _ . Even unrequited. He talks about women like they’re from another planet. You remember that girl he married in Better Than Life?” Cat nodded. “Yeah — he slept with her  _ one _ time, barely knew each other, and she was the woman in his fantasy.”

“Yeah but… she was a  _ woman _ . In his  _ fantasy _ .”

“And his ‘fantasy’ was also him being miserable with seven kids, his life in shambles. It was like… it’s what he thought he wanted, but it all went wrong because he didn’t.” He looked at Cat expectantly. “Does that make sense?”

A moment as Cat considered, and then he shrugged. “Sure. But you think that means he’s gay?”

“Maybe. Seems worth a shot though. If a woman isn’t gonna make him happy, maybe a man will.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” Cat smirked. “So who’s the unlucky guy?”

Lister snorted a laugh and then turned back to the screen. “Leonard Yates.”

As Cat watched over his shoulder, Lister fast-forwarded through his uploaded memories, stopping at a clip of him and another man, slightly taller than him, with hair that came down nearby to his shoulders and a cap on his head. His shirt, half unbuttoned, billowed open in the breeze as he sprinted across the grass. A few moments later, he drove to the ground, rolling over on his back and laughing. Lister smiled fondly at the memory. 

_ “God, I love you, Dave, I love you so much,”  _ Leonard said.

And Lister’s voice responded,  _ “And I love you, Leonard.” _

He glanced at Cat, who was trying very hard to look disinterested, shrugging and scratching at his ear. “A few minor adjustments…” Lister said, tapping again at the keyboard.

_ “God, I love you, Arnold, I love you so much.” _

_ “And I love you, Leonard.” _

“Change the voice…”

_ “God, I love you, Arnold, I love you so much.” _

And this time, it was Rimmer’s voice that said,  _ “And I love you, Leonard.” _

Lister sat back in satisfaction as the reel continued to play. Scenes of the pair strolling along the beach, snuggled up in front of a movie, handsy makeout sessions (for which Lister covered Cat’s eyes). It was perfect just reliving these memories. He could only imagine how it would feel for Rimmer.

“So when he wakes up, he’ll think all this happened to him?” Cat asked, finally looking away. 

“Yeah,” Lister said, voice distant. “The whole eight months.”

“Man, that’s a fine present,” Cat said with a laugh. “He was probably only expecting a tie. Why’re you doing all this, anyway?”

Liste considered. He hadn’t really thought about it. He hadn’t had  _ time _ to think about it, honestly. He had just sort of… done it. “I guess I’m tired of seeing him so miserable all the time,” he said finally, which was the honest answer. “And I thought maybe if he had a happy relationship in his past, he might stop being so insufferable.”

Cat scoffed. “All the boyfriends  _ and _ girlfriends in the world couldn’t change that.”

Lister turned back to the screen, watching Leonard frantically tug off his boots while stumbling toward a bed. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re probably right.”

Cat yawned. “You two look like you need some alone time,” he said. “I’m going back to bed.” 

“Yeah,” Lister said absently, waving a little as Cat left. He folded his hands behind his head and settled back. This was going to be a long night.

To Rimmer, the events of Lister’s eight month affair felt like a particularly pleasant dream. And in many ways, it may have been better if it stayed that way. It would’ve certainly saved them both from a lot of anxiety and heartbreak. But it wouldn’t be much of a story if that were the case, and telling a good story is all I’m here to do. That, and exploring the potential of what could have been (and what  _ should _ have been, in this author’s very humble but likely popular opinion). 

Regardless, Rimmer  _ did _ sleep well that night, and woke up in a significantly better mood the next morning. When he woke up, slowly, and with a rare smile on his face, he felt a rush of disappointment at the realization that it wasn’t real. 

But then… it didn’t start to fade away as dreams tend to do.

If anything, the memories solidified themselves _more_ in his mind, and everything came flooding back at once, in more vivid detail than when he was asleep. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head and trying to put the pieces together. It had seemed so real. It _was_ real. _It_ _had been real!_ Rimmer leapt to his feet. Despite the fact that it had been over three million years ago, he could still feel that burning, passionate love as if it was still happening.

It was wonderful. It was amazing! It was—

Rimmer sat back down heavily. 

Leonard Yates. He had dated  _ Leonard Yates _ for eight months. They’d been in love. They were happy. Everything was  _ perfect _ , except for one teeny-tiny detail.

Leonard Yates was a man.

Rimmer didn’t know a lot. He was hardly ever certain of anything. But he knew this much: he didn’t like men. How could he? Being gay, that wasn’t like him at all. It was bad, his father had made sure he knew that from a very young age. It had been ingrained in him for as long as he could remember. And yet… it felt so  _ right _ . That was the worst part. He’d never felt anything like this, for anyone. Not even Yvonne McGruder, who he had been lusting over since their brief liaison. And as much as it sickened him to think that he could’ve had this sort of relationship with a man, it was also deeply satisfying. The memories were nothing but pleasant, and he decided that it wasn’t worth questioning it. For the first time since he’d died (and between you and me, much longer than that), he felt nothing but pure bliss. So what if it  _ was _ just a figment of his overly active imagination? It was no less real than  _ he _ was, so maybe it didn’t matter.

There was no doubt in his mind that he and this man had been in love, once upon a time. And that was good enough for him.

He set about his morning much in the way he always did, except now there was a spring in his step. He had Holly play one of his love song mixtapes, except this time he danced to them instead of sobbing his eyes out at even the upbeat ones. And that’s how Lister found him; whirling around the room and singing into his fist, spinning into a self-embrace, arms folded around himself, and miming a deep, passionate kiss into a pillow. He didn’t even jump in embarrassment when Lister interrupted, instead offering a big smile to his roommate.

“You’re in a good mood,” Lister said. The slyness in his voice went unnoticed by Rimmer, who was too engrossed in his own good fortune to pay any attention to his tone.

“Why not Listy?” he asked cheerfully, tossing the pillow back onto his bunk. “When life’s so good?”

Lister shook his head, barely concealing a grin, and popped open a beer can, perching on the edge of the table. “Why is life so good?” he questioned.

Rimmer flopped over backwards on his bunk, arms spread out wide, staring dreamily upward. “You wouldn’t understand, Lister, you’ve never been in love.”

Lister huffed a scoff of indignation. “I have!”

Rimmer shook his head. “Oh, not real love, Lister, not like I have. Not... fireworks-in-the-sky, from-here-to-eternity, rolling-naked-on-the-beach kind of love.” He sighed dreamily. “Not like me and Leonard.”

It was a good thing that he wasn’t looking at Lister, because there was no hiding the pleased look that crossed his face, with a smug satisfaction which certainly would’ve tipped Rimmer off that something was up. Instead, he remained blissfully unaware, wrapped up in his elaborate fantasy of Lister’s design. “So who’s Leonard?” he asked innocently. 

“Never you mind, Lister,” Rimmer chided. The last thing he wanted was for Lister to manage to spoil this by making fun of him. “Someone who was absolutely nuts about me, that's all you need to know.”

Lister smirked knowingly. “Fine, if you want to keep it to yourself,” he said.

And Rimmer didn’t, not really. He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs, so all of deep space would know that he and Leonard Yates had been in love. But there was a little bit of him, that small voice of insecurity buried deep inside him, that made him hesitate. It was wrong. Or maybe it was just too good to be true. And love,  _ real _ love, should be between just those two people. Lister didn’t need to know anything.

“All I'm saying is, from now on call me ‘Tiger’,” he said, making a low growling noise in the back of his throat.

Lister couldn’t help it this time; he laughed. But it wasn’t unkind, which Rimmer was grateful for. If anything, he sounded… happy. Happy for him? Was that even possible?

“An old boyfriend, was he?” Lister asked.

The word stirred something in Rimmer that he couldn’t quite place. He never thought he would ever refer to anyone as his boyfriend. And yet as strange as it was, he didn’t mind it. Liked it, even. No, this was definitely a good thing, and he found that he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He stood up, stretching as he recounted the details to Lister.

“What a crazy, crazy year that was,” he mused. “The first three months I was at Io Polytechnic doing a maintenance course.” He frowned suddenly, brows knitting together in momentary confusion. “Then for absolutely no reason, I suddenly moved to Liverpool. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I became a total slob.” He hesitated. “I met Leonard, of course.” Somehow, of all of those things, that was the least strange of them all. Rimmer’s frown deepened. “I even started to eat my own toenail clippings.” If he noticed Lister doing that exact thing in the moment, he didn’t mention it. He continued: “My tastes in music radically changed. I stopped adoring Mantovani and got into Rastabilly Skank.” He shook his head in mild disbelief. “Crazy!”

Lister tapped the table thoughtfully. “Well you know, you were in love. You go a bit crazy.”

Maybe crazy was an understatement. Crazy might at least explain his sudden homosexual tendencies, which had mysteriously gone away after the affair ended. Just the thought of the relationship’s end put a damper on the mood, Rimmer’s expression dropping. “It was weird,” he muttered. “I  _ was _ . I can hardly even imagine it now. I mean, you know me, I’m not…”  _ Am I? _ “I was absolutely nuts about him, but yet I started to treat him really badly.”

“No you didn’t!” Lister said indignantly. 

Rimmer began pacing the room, his frustration growing. “I did!” he insisted. “I started to give him some wishy washy twaddle about not wanting to get tied down.”

That at much, was true. If anything, his misadventures in Better Than Life proved that. And it wasn’t unlike him to push away a good thing.

But that hadn’t been it, had it? Sure, that’s what he  _ remembered _ happening. But it was beginning to make sense now, the pieces all falling together as he filled in the missing gaps. He must’ve been afraid. Afraid of what his parents would do. Afraid of what  _ he _ would do. The person he was becoming — the slob, the layabout, the  _ homosexual? _ — he hadn’t liked it. That must’ve been it. It was the only explanation. 

Lister, on the other hand, was making other excuses. “But you were young!” he pointed out. “You didn't  _ want _ to settle down. You wanted to bum around and have a laugh.”

No. That wasn’t right at all. “But I hate bumming around and having a laugh,” Rimmer said.

“But that's what you're like when you're young,” Lister’s voice was growing increasingly urgent, for reasons Rimmer could not possibly understand at this point in time. 

He shook his head rapidly. “But I wasn't like that when I was young, so why did I say those things?” Had it really been an excuse? Just a way to get out of it? But why did he  _ want _ to get out of it? The one good thing that had ever happened to him, and he let him go. He was a coward, he knew this about himself, but didn’t he owe the man he loved an honest explanation, at least?

If Lister knew what he knew, knew all the details, he would call him a slimy weasel who didn’t deserve someone like Leonard anyway.

And that’s if he didn’t hate him for being too damn cowardly to handle his own sexuality.

Lister was still frantically trying to save the illusion that was quickly spiraling out of control. “But, I mean, he wanted you to have a career,” he said, sounding disgusted at the very idea. 

Rimmer laced his fingers through his hair desperately. “That's what I'd always dreamt of, so why did I finish it with him?”  _ You know why. Coward.  _

“Because, you wanted to play the field?” Lister offered. 

“That’s right!” The memory sprang to his mind. “I told him I wanted to play the field.”  _ What? _ Was that  _ really _ why? Or — or was that just what he’d told him? Said it to avoid the truth, the truth that he hated himself for what they were doing, hated Leonard for making him fall in love with him, hated his father and his brothers and everyone on Io for making it impossible for him to accept happiness when he finally found it? “I told him that?” He repeated, more to himself than to Lister. “I must have been mad. He was great. And he thought  _ I  _ was great.”

Lister’s voice was quiet, oddly wistful, when he responded. “Yeah man, you’re right. You were mad.”

“He was a lover, and a friend,” Rimmer murmured softly.

“And handsome,” Lister added.

“Gorgeous.”

“Great sense of humor.”

“Terrific.”

“The sex was fantastic.”

“Amazing sex—”

“Brilliant sex—”

“Oh, primo dynamite sex—”

“Fantastic sex, stupendous sex—”

“Lister.” Rimmer had stopped pacing, and was now staring at Lister with an odd expression.

“The way he used to—”

“Lister!”

“Oh, sex…” Lister was staring up at the ceiling, completely lost in thought. “Brilliant sex—”

“Lister,  _ Lister!” _ He finally snapped out of his trance at Rimmer’s interruption. “How do you know?”

His eyes widened a fraction, then forced a laugh and shrugged. “Just having a guess.”

And for the moment, Rimmer was still too consumed by the memories to question him further.

For the next few days, everything seemed to be going according to plan. Much to Lister’s delight, Rimmer’s good mood persisted, and for the first time, Lister thought things might be looking up for him. He was more naturally confident, carried himself a little taller, he seemed more comfortable in his own skin. It was a welcome change from the Rimmer they had known, and not just because he was significantly nicer and eighty percent less weaselly. 

All in all, there was absolutely nothing to complain about.

Alright, so Lister felt a little more somber than usual, knowing that the happiest eight months of his life now belonged to someone else. And he actually sort of missed Rimmer’s constant berating. But he was happy, and that’s really all that mattered. That’s what Lister had  _ wanted _ in the first place. 

So you can imagine his surprise when Rimmer stormed into the sleeping quarters on Wednesday morning, all red-faced and nostrils flaring. There was a fury in his eyes Lister hadn't seen since the time he tripped Rimmer and made him spill coffee all down the front of Todhunter’s trousers. 

“Right, smeg-brain, prepare to die!” 

Lister looked up from his jigsaw puzzle, his bewildered expression genuine this time. “Eh?”

“I found the letters.”

He rolled his eyes, putting another piece into place. “What letters?” He should’ve known this was too good to last. Rimmer was so drunk in love that he was going crazy now. This was somehow worse than when he was being an overbearing insufferable git. At least then, Lister usually knew what he was angry about. 

Rimmer wasn’t having it, though. “Don’t give me ‘what letters?’ —  _ the _ letters!”

Lister gave Rimmer the world’s more exaggerated eye roll.  _ “What _ letters?”

“You went out with Leonard Yates too,” Rimmer said, putting his hands on the table and leaning across it until his face was inches away from Lister’s, expression thunderous. “I found the letters he sent you.”

_ Ah. _

_Those_ _letters_.

“Oh smeg,” Lister said.

With a disgusted grimace, Rimmer straightened up and paced the room, pointing a finger accusingly at Lister all the while. “All the time he was going out with me he must have been seeing you as well, behind my back,” he reasoned. And to be honest, Lister thought, it was a fair assumption. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Rimmer might stumble across cold, hard proof that Leonard had been Lister’s boyfriend, not his. And what other conclusion should he have come to? Guilt began to settle in the pit of Lister’s stomach as Rimmer continued to rage. “And what is more,” he said, voice rising to a shout, “to pour salt into the wound, you used to take him to the exact same places  _ I _ used to take him, and do the exact same things.” 

Vaguely, Lister wondered just how Rimmer thought any of that could’ve been a deliberate attack, considering they hadn’t even known each other at the time. But then again, there was a  _ lot _ more that didn’t make sense about the whole situation. This was just a minor detail. And really, it was just like Rimmer to lapse into believing that everyone was out to get him. To be  _ so _ certain that Lister hated him that he wouldn’t hesitate to believe that he would deliberately spoil a relationship for him.

Though, isn’t that what he’d done, in giving Rimmer these memories? Sure, it hadn’t been intentional, but he should’ve been able to anticipate it all going wrong. Not for the first time, Lister wished he could’ve had a little more foresight.

“Rimmer, it’s not what it looks like,” he said, desperately trying to salvage something that he knew, deep down, could never be fixed. Not just his poor attempt at a present, not just false memories of a love affair. It was Rimmer — his sad, pitiful existence and existential misery — that was impossible to change. 

And Rimmer, in all his stubbornness, still hadn’t figured out that the problem was not that he was cheated on, but that he had never been in the relationship at all. “That man is unbelievable! We spent a night in a hotel in Southport and made love six times. According to his letter  _ you _ were in the exact same hotel and you made love six times too.” If looks could kill, Lister would be dead five times over. 

“Listen,” he pleaded.

“Twelve times a night? What is wrong with the man? He’s sex mad!”

“Listen!” He tried again.

“It's a good job you were there. If I'd been on my own I'd have been dead within a week. But it doesn't make sense.” Rimmer, finally exhausted, sat down heavily on his bunk and raked his fingers through his hair. “I mean, he loved  _ me _ .”

_ What, you can’t love two people at the same time? _ Lister thought. 

“Listen, listen—” he said, cutting him off. He swiveled around in his chair, leaning over the back to look at Rimmer seriously. It was time to end this. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but Rimmer didn’t deserve to suffer any more, Leonard didn’t deserve to be slandered, and Lister was tired of being shouted at for something he didn’t do. At least let Rimmer shout at him for what he  _ did  _ do. “He wasn't going out with us both at the same time.”

Rimmer shook his head dismissively. “I’ve checked the dates.”

And Lister had to wonder how Rimmer even found the letters at all — and why. Was he so insecure that he couldn’t even believe that someone would love him without tangible proof? Or was he looking for any excuse to believe that he wasn’t actually worthy of being loved?

Lister just looked at him helplessly for a moment, hating himself a little more with every passing second. Finally, he let out a breath, feeling himself deflate as the secret he’d been holding in for the last few days was at last set loose. “He wasn’t going out with you at all.”

Rimmer blinked, and shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He — he didn’t go out with me at all?”

Lister sighed, and scrubbed at his face with both hands. “No, you’ve never even met him.”

Rimmer’s expression shifted between anger, shock, hurt, and finally settled on stubborn disbelief. “Is that the best you can do, Lister?” he sneered, in a way that suggested he wasn’t as confident that this was a trick as he was trying to make it seem. “That's below feeble.”

Lister stood up. He was struck with the sudden urge to go sit beside Rimmer, to try and comfort him. But he’d already done enough damage. So instead he settled for the truth, as pathetic as it was. “I went down to the hologram simulation suite and I gave you eight months of my memory.”

Rimmer stared at him. “What?”

“It was a present.” He should’ve known. It sounded stupid even saying it now. Too big a gesture, too flawed, too unfitting for someone like Rimmer, who didn’t  _ deserve _ it, who he didn’t even like, who didn’t even like  _ him _ . And yet… it had been well-intentioned. And it had worked, for a while. Seeing Rimmer happy was probably the only worthwhile thing Lister had ever accomplished. 

It was so like him to go and smeg it up.

“You gave me eight months of your memory… as a  _ present?” _ Rimmer spoke hesitantly, like the word was in some unfamiliar foreign language. Like he hardly knew what it meant, let alone ever got one before. And that in itself was painful to even think about, because what did it mean if Lister was the first person ever to give Rimmer a present, a real, meaningful present, and for it to backfire so horribly that it seemed like a practical joke instead? 

All he could do was nod. “Yeah.”

“That’s why I was an orphan,” he mumbled. “Even though my parents were alive. That’s why I had my appendix out twice.” He swallowed, voice quiet. “That’s why I was in love with a man, despite the fact that I’m not — that I would never —” His voice shook, and Lister’s heart sank.

“I thought it was what you needed,” he whispered, and he didn’t just mean the love affair itself.

Rimmer was silent for a moment, unmoving, staring right at Lister but looking right through him. His gaze was hollow, empty. Lister couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“You’ve destroyed me, Lister.” There was no anger in his voice, only defeat. And somehow, that was a hundred times worse. “The person I loved most in the whole world didn’t love me. He loved you.” He stood up.

“Rimmer, listen,” Lister said, but he didn’t. “Rimmer,  _ listen _ .” He just stormed out the door. “Rimmer!” And he was gone. Lister shook his head in frustration and threw himself back down at the table. “ _ Smeg.” _

Rimmer ran. As soon as he was free of Lister and away from the suffocating closeness of the sleeping quarters, he just took off. He had to get out of there. He didn’t even know where he was going, but his feet carried him up to the observation dome, where he so often went to brood. He knew better than to think Lister wouldn’t find him there eventually, but he hoped he would at least have the common decency to give a broken man some space.

Then again, when had Lister  _ ever _ had any sort of decency?

He just couldn’t believe it. As he leaned against the railing and stared out into the vast expanse of space, Rimmer cycled through those eight months with growing distraught. It had seemed so real. Even with all the inconsistencies, the things that didn’t line up, he’d never doubted it for a second. Sure, he’d been insecure, but an agonizing death and three million years will do that to a guy. This was just — it was so much worse than he ever could’ve imagined. Lister had to have known just how terribly it would go, and the thought hurt. He knew Lister didn’t like him, he knew he probably took gleeful pleasure in seeing him suffer. But he never thought he would stoop this low, go to such lengths to raise him up only to watch him fall. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t  _ fair _ .

And yet.

There was a little part of him that still hung on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Lister hadn’t been trying to hurt him. That he really intended these memories to be a present, something to cheer him up. It was near-unfathomable, because well, this was Lister. Slobbish, stupid, thinks-only-about-curry-and-sleeping Lister. He wasn’t the kind of person to do this. Maybe for his friends,  _ maybe _ , but he and Rimmer weren’t friends. Who does something like this for someone they can’t stand?

But if he really  _ had  _ been trying to be kind, why did he give him a  _ boyfriend? _ Why not a girlfriend? Lister had plenty of those. If this was about sacrifice, he could’ve given up Kristine Kochanski. That would’ve been a sure sign he was being selfless. But no, it had to be a boyfriend.  _ Leonard Yates. _ How stupid did Lister think he was? Falling in love with a man? It was absurd. Lister was making fun of him, it was the only explanation. Insulting him, calling him gay without coming right out and saying it, because that would be too obvious. Lister just wanted to see Rimmer suffer, watch him grapple with his own self-hatred even  _ more _ than usual when he realized how wrong this all was.

He didn’t love Leonard Yates. He only thought he did because Lister transferred his thoughts and feelings to him. So it wasn’t real. His love for this man was no more real than the false memory of his parents being dead (though that, at least, wasn’t so bad once he’d gotten past it). But if it was fake, all just a simulation, then why did he still feel so absolutely horrible? Not because of Lister’s betrayal, but because even after everything, there was still a longing for his lost love. He shouldn’t still feel this way, not now that he knew the truth. But it didn’t feel any different than his memories of McGruder, or his schoolboy crushes, except that this had been requited. And it felt so much more  _ natural _ than any of those. Not desperate sex with the first person who would sleep with him while she was under the impression he was someone else. Not forcing himself to feel something for every pretty girl who looked in his direction. This was genuine, and pure, and he  _ loved _ this man with everything in him. 

It hurt.

And it scared him.

Was it possible that in his blunders, Lister’s little memory experiment had…  _ turned _ him gay? That would be the simplest answer. It would be so easy, then, to write it off as some sort of… disease. A holo-infection given to him by a bit of programming gone awry. And if that was the case, then all he had to do was erase his memory of it, and the feelings would go away. Leonard Yates, and years of repressed emotions threatening to burst at the seams. 

But what if it wasn’t that at all? What if he erased his memory, but the feelings persisted? What if this wasn’t a fluke, but an ill-timed circumstance which awakened something that was buried deep inside him already? He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to risk the chance of still feeling like this, but not even being able to explain why? Maybe he would be able to shove it all back down, but maybe he wouldn’t. And what then? Would he be cursed to live like this forever, as something he hated? 

In many ways, that was  _ already _ the existence he’d been cursed with. Artificial life after death. An eternity with the most annoying idiots left in existence. Never achieving anything and no way of making up for it now. How could one more setback like being gay make things any worse than they already were?

He didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs, but when Lister quietly walked over to stand beside him, he wasn’t surprised, nor was he angry. He was almost grateful for the company, though he would never say so. He had so much on his mind, and he needed to talk it out with someone, and Lister was no worse than anyone else — not that he had many options. But he had no idea where to even begin. 

Luckily, Lister broke the silence first. “Come on, Rimmer, you've experienced love. It made you more confident, more secure.”

He sighed, still staring out at nothing. “It didn't happen,” he said, because it was easier to start there. “I never even met him.”

“It  _ did _ happen,” Lister insisted. Rimmer had to admire his persistence, if nothing else. He really was a fool if he still believed in fairytale love stories like this. Rimmer knew better now. This was proof. Proof that it would never happen for him, could never have happened. Because for people like him, there were no happy endings. And yet, Lister seemed so certain, both of himself, and of Rimmer. “I mean, you fell in love with him in a way I never did. He’s yours now and nothing can take him away from you.”

Rimmer scoffed. “That time he stuck his tongue down my ear. It wasn't my ear at all -- it was your ear.” He practically spat the words out. “The person I loved most in the whole world had his tongue down your ear. The most romantic thing I've ever had down my ear is a Johnson's baby bud.”

Lister reached out like he was going to touch his arm, and then seemed to remember that he couldn’t. He played it off, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Rimmer. Still, he was glad for once that he couldn’t be touched. He didn’t think he could handle any sort of attempt at physical comfort right now. “Come on,” Lister said, too kindly, too gently. “As far as you're concerned you had a love affair, right?” Rimmer nodded numbly. “Which was wonderful, yeah? And for some reason that you can't understand, it all went hideously wrong.” Rimmer was silent, which Lister took to mean he was right. “Well, so what? Join the club, bucko. It's just you, me, and everybody else in the world.”

Rimmer said nothing for a moment. Then, staring very deliberately out at a distant star flickering, he said, “But I do understand.” His voice was no more than a whisper, a small little secret shared only to one other person. “I understand perfectly.” He finally turned to look at Lister in accusation, but without any malice. “You know, I should be thanking you Lister, honestly. Because this confirmed something for me. Something I thought I had accepted a long time ago, but that  _ apparently _ I was weak enough to be tricked by after all.”

Lister looked at him, baffled. “...So what’s that, then?”

“I realized that I don’t  _ deserve _ happiness, or love, or whatever else it was you tried to give me with your stupid love affair.” He spoke flippantly, like they were discussing the weather. “Not like that. I don’t know what you think went wrong for you, but I know the truth, Listy, and that’s that people — people who — people like  _ me,  _ it’ll never work out for us. Men, falling for men? It’s not supposed to be that way. And it’ll always end for one reason or another, because we’re doomed to a life of loneliness. That’s the curse, Lister. I mean, why do you think you’re still alone and miserable?”

Lister stared at him, reeling, looking like he’d just been hit. “Whoa, man,” he said, taking a step back and putting his hands in the air. “Think whatever you want, but don’t drag me into that homophobic load of smeg in your brain.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m alone because the entire human race is dead, Rimmer. And I’m miserable for the same reason, yeah. But I’m a lot better off than you, because I don’t  _ hate _ myself for who I am. I’m not miserable because I like guys, and my relationship didn’t end because universe hates gay people.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what it was like on Io, but the rest of the universe woke the smeg up a  _ long _ time ago, Rimmer. And I’m sorry that you can’t stand yourself, but don’t try to push it on me, because we are  _ not _ the same.”

Shaking his head, Rimmer looked away. “Why did you do this to me, Lister? I was perfectly content before you screwed everything up.”

“Hey!” Now Lister was starting to look angry. “I was tryin’ to do a nice thing for you, Rimmer, why can’t you get that through your thick hologramatic skull?” He reached up, jabbing a finger at Rimmer’s forehead, right through the H. “You’re incapable of accepting good things, that’s your problem! I’ll admit, I smegged up, okay? I didn’t think. I had no idea you would figure it out but your…  _ repression _ … is not my fault.”

Rimmed huffed, taking a step back as Lister’s grimy fingers poked through his head. “You knew what it would do to me!”

“I  _ didn’t _ !” Lister insisted. “Honest, man, I really didn’t. I just thought — I really just assumed you were gay, and that this would be better than giving you a girlfriend.”

“You shouldn’t have given me anything at all,” he sniffed. “Wait — you… you  _ knew _ ?”

Lister groaned, pinching his temples. “I mean, I  _ suspected _ . What did you… did you think I was making fun of you or something?” Rimmer said nothing. “Oh my god. You did! Rimmer, come on man.”

Rimmer folded his arms, a pout beginning to form on his face. “You make fun of me for everything else.”

Lister winced. “Yeah, I mean — stupid stuff. You’re a smeghead, Rimmer, you make it really easy. But it’s not… it’s not stuff that  _ matters _ . This matters. I wouldn’t make a joke of it.”

Rimmer’s voice was quiet when he responded. “I didn’t know.”

“Obviously not.”

They stood side by side, looking out at the sky. “So now what?” Lister asked after a minute. 

“I don’t know,” Rimmer replied. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” The pain, the heartache, the loss, the love, it was all too much.

Lister hesitated for a moment, thinking. “So, so you're in pain, yeah?” he asked, voice far gentler than it should’ve been, considering all the things Rimmer just said to him. “I know. But Rimmer, if you go through life without feeling, if you go through life never experiencing, you're no better than a jellyfish. No better than a bank manager. And if you go through life hiding who you are, being ashamed of it, you’re no better than a… well, I dunno, but you know what I mean.” He sighed. “It’s not good, Rimmer. You’ll just be lonely and miserable forever, and no one should feel that way. Not even you.”

Rimmer considered this. He shook his head like he still didn’t quite believe what Lister was telling him, but some of the tension drained from his shoulders, and though he didn’t exactly smile, he at least was frowning a little less. “I don't want this feeling any more,” he repeated. “I want my own memory back.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Lister said in defeat. “I'll erase the last four days. The incident will never have happened.”

Rimmer frowned. “But you'll know about it!”

“Well, I'll erase my memory from Sunday too.”

He turned back to Lister. “And the Cat's and Holly's.”

Lister rolled his eyes. Oh, the things he did for this man. “Fine, if they agree.”

“And what about the black box?”

“I'll destroy it.”

“It's indestructible!”

“Okay... I'll shoot it off into space.”

“Someone might find it,” Rimmer insisted with increasing urgency.

“Okay, okay,” Lister said, placating him as best he could. “We'll bury it.” He looked at Rimmer for approval, which he granted with a single, curt, nod. “We'll bury it on some planet, yeah?”

Dear reader, you know how the rest of this story goes. I wish I could give it a different ending, but the sad truth is, Rimmer was not ready for the awakening he had during these events. Had he retained his memories, he would’ve continued to be plagued by the knowledge that he was everything he despised, without any sort of productive means through which to channel the abundance of feelings. I know that many of you, like myself, may wish to believe that this could have been the beginning of what would eventually become a blossoming, passionate, love-filled relationship between Arnold Rimmer and Dave Lister. But at this point in their lives, they did not have the shared experiences and long life together that another thirty years would bring them. Still. What transpired over those five days was not for nothing. You may rest assured, however, that a happy ending for them is inevitable. Just because Rimmer was not ready to accept his feelings at this point in time, does not mean he never will be. There will come a time in which Rimmer comes to this conclusion all on his own, without the aid of gifted history, and it will not be a love affair with Leonard Yates that is the catalyst. And isn’t that better? Knowing that the experiences are his own, genuinely his own, with someone that  _ he _ loves?

That, my friend, is what makes those memories so precious.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in less than 24 hours god bless. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for reading :)


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